


Save Your Love

by Morpheus626



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28024413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: So here it is, similar to how the song that inspired it goes: Set in an AU in which Rog has remained a bachelor for Obvious Reasons once you read this,  and let's say set in about 1978, why not. Roger goes to pick a drunk Freddie up from a party he and the other lads have elected/not been able to attend for various reasons, and Roger Yearns while his best friend tries to win over a boyfriend that doesn’t seem to give a shit about him, even while he’s wrestling with the same feelings Roger’s having.They’ll get there lol.TW for mentions of drinking/being drunk, emetophobia.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Save Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this song: https://open.spotify.com/track/32tUYhAygMdx9XxFxxj3It  
> (literally I just wrote the dude version of this essentially, but I fell in love with the song and this fic has been haunting me for two days now jdsalfdja)

“Let me come get you,” Roger says it softly, both because he’s still half-asleep, and because he feels like Freddie is expecting him to yell at him. But that’s the last thing he wants to do. 

“I can walk home,” Freddie stumbles over his words, tongue heavy and Roger can almost smell the alcohol through the phone. Though that isn’t a judgement; they’ve all had those nights. 

But this is one of the few nights Freddie’s been out alone, without even one of them with him. He’d taken his current boyfriend to the party, held by some somebody in the record industry that none of them really know, but who tosses invites their way like candy every time they have any sort of event. 

“Oh really? Because you don’t sound like someone capable of walking home,” Roger says. “Don’t argue with me; you’re being silly.” 

“Am not,” Freddie says defensively. “I feel sick.” 

“Too much to drink?” Roger asks, leaning as far from the phone as he can to snag his car keys off the hook near the front door. 

“No,” Freddie replies glumly. “Him. He’s ignored me all fucking night, and I’m the one who brought him! He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. Prick.” 

Roger swallows hard. He has a lot he could say, about the current boyfriend. None of it particularly nice, but honest. 

Now probably isn’t the time for it though. 

“Well, why not abandon him there then?” he finally suggests. “Would serve him right, wouldn’t it?” 

“Had expectations for the end of the night,” Freddie grumbles, and oh that does do something else to Roger, though truthfully he thinks Freddie is far too drunk to actually safely act on any wants or urges. 

“Could still be a good night, letting me pick you up,” Roger murmurs, and he can hear the emotion in his voice that he had been hoping to hide. 

“Alright,” Freddie finally acquiesces, and Roger’s heart soars even as he fights to drag it back down. 

“Good! Stay put, and wait for me outside the house. I’m not far away, it won’t take me long to get to you.” 

“You...have the address?” Freddie mumbles. “You didn’t want to go to this thing even.” 

Didn’t want to go to it because I couldn’t go with you on my arm, is the sentence that Roger holds back. “Uh...yeah. I held onto it, just in case I changed my mind.” 

Freddie mutters something Roger can’t understand, and the phone goes dead. 

\---

He wants to speed, but he knows better. The streets are fairly empty tonight in the area, and it would be his luck to be caught and ticketed while Freddie was waiting for him. 

After all, if he takes too long, Freddie might change his mind. Go back inside and try to get _his_ attention again, pointless though it might be. 

And that would only hurt Freddie, as well as Roger, if he’s fully honest with himself. Even harder than knowing Freddie is with someone else (and probably doesn’t consider one of his best friends to be boyfriend material) is having to hear him talk about how his boyfriend hurts him, ignores him, just generally treats him like shit. 

Freddie deserves better, and as he drives, Roger can feel the love he constantly pushes away and down so Freddie won’t see it, bursting at his seams. 

The front of the house is littered with people as he parks, but he doesn’t see Freddie. 

He’s never felt out of sorts at parties like this before, but still in his lounge clothes and disheveled, he feels it for the first time now. 

He doesn’t like it, but he’d bear most anything to help a friend. 

A good ten paces away from the house, leaned against the brick of it, he finds Freddie. 

“Sick?” Roger asks, though he doesn’t really need to, as he gets close enough to help Freddie up. 

“It’s his fault,” Freddie mutters coldly. “I went back in to tell him I was going, and that someone who cared was coming to get me. And he laughed! Fucking bastard...only a few of them in there dared laugh with him, the rest were smarter than that.” 

“What would you have done if they’d all laughed?” 

Freddie shrugs as he leans heavily on Roger. “Probably gotten sick all over their shoes.” 

“That seems good revenge,” Roger says, giggling as Freddie stumbles and laughs at his own disobedient feet. “I bet they’ve got expensive shoes on tonight too.” 

“Next time,” Freddie says it like a promise, but Roger hopes desperately he won’t be picking him up like this again any time soon. He can feel the hurt and sadness coming off of Freddie in waves as they make it to his car, and it isn’t his pain, but he feels it strongly all the same. 

You do that, he’s found, for the people you love. 

“You’ll drive slow?” Freddie asks as he drops his head back against the seat. 

“I’ll do my best,” Roger replies. “No bumps, if I can help it. The roads back to mine aren’t too bad.” 

His empty flat, that he’d gotten after Freddie had revealed he’d be moving in with the boyfriend. Another new flat that Freddie wouldn’t have enough space in, but that they’d watched him try to make partially his own, the rest of his things going into storage. Another man who claimed to love Freddie, but made no room for him in his home or in his life.

It makes him sick, but there’s no time for him to be feeling that way. 

“Oh, there he is!” Freddie leans too far out the window, and Roger’s grateful he’s only just started to back out of the driveway so he can quickly brake and snag the back of Freddie’s leather jacket before he falls out of the car. “I’ve got an idea. Can you do me a favor?” 

He wants to say no. Wants to tell him that he needs water and sleep, so no, he’s not doing anything except driving Freddie back to his, and that it’s for his own good. 

But he can rarely say no to Freddie. “Sure. What is it?” 

“I don’t think he’s sober enough to realize who I’m with,” Freddie replies. “Drive up and down the street a few times. I bet we make him jealous, when he sees me in here.” 

Roger winces, but Freddie isn’t paying attention, eyes tired and struggling to focus through the haze of booze on the form of his shitty boyfriend in the doorway of the house. 

“I could, once or twice. But then we ought to go. And we’re not many blocks away from mine, so it’ll take no time at all to get home.” 

“Thank you, Rog,” Freddie turns and smiles at him. His hair is mussed, his smile is wide and gorgeous and Roger bets that if he could rest a hand on his face, his skin is delightfully warm. 

He’s feeling flushed himself as he does as Freddie asks. A drive down the street past the house, Freddie hanging out the window, waving and sticking his tongue out. If it weren’t in this particular situation, Roger would find it funny. 

Instead, he sighs as he reaches the end of the road and does his best to turn around quickly before going down it again. 

But this time, his window faces the house, and he glares as hard as he can at Freddie’s boyfriend. 

The street is narrow, the house close to the road even with the sidewalk. He knows the other man can see him. 

If Freddie wasn’t watching him, he’d do worse than glare, but he can feel Freddie’s eyes on his back. 

“Another time,” Freddie begs, even as he goes pale when Roger gently hits the brakes. 

“Fred,” Roger sighs. “Even if he is paying attention, he’s not coming over. He hasn’t reacted at all.” 

And he doesn’t mean to say anything sensitive, but he clearly has, and in retrospect, he can see that he should have said it differently. It would have upset him too, were the positions here reversed. 

Freddie’s eyes fill with tears, but he wipes them away fast as anything. “Fine. Take me to yours then. I’m not even tired, but I might be sick again. Better to throw up in your flat than in your car, I suppose.” 

He drives slowly, like he promised, but Freddie still reaches over for him after a few blocks. Aiming for arm, but landing on thigh, and if Freddie feels the way his touch makes Roger’s muscle twitch under his fingers, he doesn’t say anything. 

“I don’t actually want to be sick in your car,” he whimpers, and Roger pulls over just soon enough for him to pop open the door and throw up near the kerb instead. 

“We’re like a block or so away yet,” Roger soothes, leaning over to rub Freddie’s back. “Think you can make it?” 

Freddie flops back into the car, slams the door shut, and nods. 

It’s not far to drive, but in that time, Freddie leans over so his head settles onto Roger’s shoulder, his breath warm. 

Now, parked back at his flat, he doesn’t want to move, can’t bear the thought of disturbing Freddie. 

He tries not to, as best he can, but Freddie still whines when he slips out of the car. 

“I could sleep here. That wouldn’t be so bad. A hangover is a hangover, regardless of location, right?” 

Roger can’t fight back his giggling. This is the Freddie he knows well, the Freddie that might lose his head momentarily over a boy, but who ultimately has all control over himself. 

Though he wouldn’t hate if Freddie lost his head over him, instead of any other man. 

“I think you might be right, but I bet you’ll be more comfortable in my bed,” Roger says as he opens the passenger door and helps Freddie out, and goodness he did not mean that to sound like a proposition (even if he wishes they were in a moment where it could be), but it sure did sound like one. 

“You really want to share with me?” Freddie is adorable, leaning on him again, smiling brightly. “No, I’m a mess. Put me on your couch.” 

“You need a bed,” Roger protests with a smile. “I’ll take the couch. Or the floor, or the tub. I don’t mind, you can put me where you like.” 

His smile doesn't fade as he helps Freddie into his flat, but inside he is screaming at himself. He couldn’t be hiding his feelings worse if he tried, his foot is so far down his mouth it’s going to be coming out his ass soon, and-

“Thank you,” Freddie mumbles sleepily, turning to hug him, resting his head on Roger’s shoulder. “For coming to get me. You didn’t have to, you could have made me call Brian or John.” 

“I wouldn’t make you do that,” Roger says, and his hand shakes slightly as he rests it on Freddie’s back. “You know I’ve got you, if you need someone.” 

Freddie looks up, and oh those beautiful brown eyes drown him, but he’s never been so happy to not be able to breathe. “I love you for that. And other things, of course. I’m very lucky to have you, you know that?” 

He wants to ask if Freddie means this in the way he desperately wants him to mean it. He wants to kiss him. He wants to beg him to break up with his boyfriend, for his own good and for his selfish sake. 

Before he can find his tongue, Freddie does instead. 

The kiss is just as warm as he’d hoped it might be, and he’s well aware part of him should probably be grossed out since Freddie’s been sick a few times now, but he’s been wanting it so much, so badly, that that part of him is silenced. 

“Sorry,” Freddie’s blushing, and the tears are back. “That wasn’t right of me, you aren’t-” 

“I am,” Roger spits it out, strangled, a confession premature. In another universe, he would have prepared it. Would have had every word he wanted to say memorized perfectly. But this will have to do instead. “I know I’ve never mentioned it much, but-” 

“The constant stream of unhappy short-term girlfriends sort of made me wonder,” Freddie interrupts with a giggle, even as he wipes away the tears. “But me-” 

“Yes, you,” It’s Roger’s turn to interrupt, and he’s fighting off his own tears now, even as he has no clue where the fuck they came from. “It’s always been you, I’m just...really slow on the uptake, or dumb, apparently. But I finally figured myself out, and this out, and it doesn’t matter. Tomorrow you’ll be sober, and won’t remember this, and you’ll go back to that asshole, so I can say all this freely.” 

Freddie’s arms are still looped around his shoulders, his weight still leaning somewhat on him, and that gives him away as still drunk. 

But his eyes are focused and bright, and if you only looked there, you’d never know he wasn’t sober. 

“What if I told you I wanted to break up with him?” Freddie asks, his voice so low Roger can barely hear him. “What if I told you I’d like to try this. Us. No more picking me up drunk and angry from parties, you could come with me to them instead.” 

“And get drunk with you?” 

“If you so desire,” Freddie grins. 

The tears fall before he can stop them. “But you won’t remember this tomorrow.” 

“You don’t know that,” Freddie says softly, and he readjusts, no longer leaning on Roger. His arms move so his hands can rest on Roger’s hips, and suddenly it’s Roger who finds his legs refusing to obey him and keep him upright. “Give me something to remember.” 

He knows what Freddie means, and he wants that just as badly. 

“Another night,” he replies, even as it stings to say. “When we’re both sober, when we can both enjoy it properly.” 

Freddie nods. “Then let me clean up, and spend the night in your bed with me. At least you can give me a good night kiss then.” 

He follows Freddie around the flat, helping him when he stumbles. Tossing him a spare toothbrush out of the hall closet. Finding him extra lounge clothes for pajamas (he can’t stay in the leather he’s wearing now, that’s for certain.) 

Only after they’re both cleaned up and settled into the bed, does he let himself go for a moment. 

They’re laying side by side, and he does his best to kiss Freddie breathless with just the one good night kiss. It turns into two, then three, then four, then roaming hands pulling at clothing before he can stop it. 

“Tomorrow night,” he gasps it out because he can’t catch his breath either. “I promise. If you remember this. And still want it, and break up with him.” 

“Consider it done,” Freddie smiles, eyes fluttering shut. He’s exhausted, obviously. 

But not too exhausted to snuggle closer to Roger, to toss an arm around his waist and pull him close. 

It’s a psychedelic sort of dream he has, watching himself and Freddie in the bed. Sleeping soundly, happily. 

But he can see all that tamped down love leaking out now, rich yellow and orange and red like the warmth of the sun, from his chest. It surrounds them both beautifully, and he wonders why he tried to hide it so much before. 

And hopes that Freddie really will remember the night, and feel it in the morning. That he’ll call the boyfriend and break up, and start to work out moving himself back in with Roger. 

For now, he enjoys the dream, and the colors, and the love that flows from Freddie, to match and meld with his. 


End file.
